


ghosting

by wonniesbb (floweryoonn)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, SDR2 Spoilers, Song Lyrics, Song: Ghosting (Mother Mother), Spoilers, Vomiting, seriously dont read if you havent finished sdr2 i follow the game almost completely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryoonn/pseuds/wonniesbb
Summary: a sequence of events detailing hajime's journey through his feelings for nagito, as he struggles to come to terms with regrets.
Relationships: (platonic?), Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	ghosting

**Author's Note:**

> came to me while i was listening to my nagito playlist and i had to write it... its a bit rushed and not the best quality writing but i hope the idea is good enough to be enjoyable :

_I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along_

“You’re kidding me, right, Komaeda?” 

Vulnerability is something personal; it’s something only the people you trust the most will ever see in your life. Most people protect it to the very end, no one ever having the opportunity to learn about their wandering souls left unprotected by fondness. The opposite of fondness is indifference, right? People like Nagito - people like Hajime, too - live their lives in indifference, never having learned the feeling of someone being fond of you. 

And now, standing in front of him with his arms curled around himself protectively, Nagito was being honest. Pitifully, vulnerably honest.

All Hajime knew was indifference - he did not have the capability to even consider Nagito’s fond vulnerability was the truth.

“My life expectancy is between half a year to a year. The reason I’m alive is because I always believe there’s hope, no matter what.” His body twisted, curled into itself, his face contorted: vulnerability often brings a phantom physical pain.

“No matter what your reasons are, I can’t forgive you for the things you’ve done.”

“You wouldn’t do the same? We’re alike, Hinata.”

“I’m not miserable. I’m different from you.”

The opposite of fondness is indifference - until it isn't. Until it turns into a hatred; a wrath; an envy rooted so deep into your core you can’t contain it any longer. The expression Nagito wore morphed into a regret, if only for a second.

“I read a book about that a while ago. It was right of me to cite a book written for the masses. Thanks to that, I was able to gain your empathy.”  
Hajime scowled.

“You were lying? Everything you’ve said up until this point was a lie? That’s it, Komaeda, I’ve had enough.”

Indifference is dangerous; Hajime learned that truth in his final private encounter with Nagito Komaeda.

_Ghost in your house, ghost in your arms_

Nagito’s cough bounced off the walls of an empty building, with less than half of the people who first stepped foot in it present. He let his body fall limp against Akane; his eyes glared at her in a way Hajime never thought Nagito could glare at someone. Regardless, she didn’t let go of him. Likewise, Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi watched in shock, unsure how to respond to an occasion where their most detested acquaintance’s life was threatened by a friend.

“Akane…” Nagito said slowly, “What are you doing?”

Fuyuhiko flinched at Nagito’s tone before pouncing forward.

“We’re tying you up, Komaeda. You’re dangerous.”

But Komaeda didn’t struggle. He didn’t lift a finger against his friends.

“You guys are really disappointing… How long are you going to continue behaving so shortsightedly?” His expression remained bland - bored.  
“What are you on about?” Fuyuhiko asked, annoyed.

“It’s fine if you don’t understand. You can just see the end without knowing. Now then, let’s begin! The beginning of the end of Jabberwock Island!” 

Before anyone was able to think, let alone react, Nagito’s lips curled into a sadistic grin and an eruption of flames followed suit behind him. The noise was unbearable, hitting the hollow walls of their minds and souls, their heads feeling as if Nagito had physically begun to tear them apart with his own two hands, nails digging into their scalps like little sparks. 

Then, a laugh. Followed by another. And then another. A barbarous roar of cackles exploded from Nagito as he shook Akane off his neck. Extending his arms out from his sides and letting his smile grow even wider, he listened to his own callous laughs swimming amidst the despaired look of his friends. It felt good, Nagito thought, to be a villain for once.

“It's over. This is the end. The killings are done for good. Scapegoating the weak in the name of justice, while fearing when the others will stab you in the back. This game of self-righteous hypocrisy ends now! And to do that, I will destroy Jabberwock Island!”

Hajime watched the grey swirl in his eyes lose their life, as if all fondness had evaporated from him. For that moment, Hajime truly believed someone like Nagito could never stand a chance to be loved. For only that moment, he found an enraged hatred for Nagito that words could not describe.

_When you're tossing, when you turn in your sleep_

Of course, tension doesn’t go away from ignoring the source of the problem. No matter how much Hajime, Akane and the rest convinced themselves Nagito no longer existed simply because he was out of sight, things don’t change just because you will them to. Hajime realised this, as he witnessed Nagito seconds away from death.

“Akane! What are you doing?”

“It’s fine, just let him die already! Told me to torture him, or he’ll never tell us the bomb locations! Does he realise he’s putting lives at stake?” Somehow, Hajime knew that’s exactly why Nagito was doing all this. Why Nagito wanted to kill them all, he couldn’t understand. That’s just how Nagito is, he’s insane - is what he told himself.

“Is this… alright? I mean, Nagito’s gonna die!” Kazuichi had the bravery to question what no one else wanted to.

He was right, too. Akane wasn’t simply holding Nagito down - not even just choking him. Her eyes were blank, like those of a demon staring down its victim. She wanted to snap his neck, break his skull, stab him, kill him. If no one stopped her, there’s no chance she would take the initiative to stop herself.

Chiaki had been standing quietly watching it unfold, but she had never been the type to stand and watch as someone she cared about was hurting. The only true maturity of the group: she stormed up to Akane firmly and whipped the back of her palm across her cheek. Immediately, Nagito was released as he fell into a stream of coughs and gags.

“Calm down, Akane. If he’s dead, then there’s really no hope of us stopping his plan.”

Was it normal for Nagito to have changed this suddenly? 

_It's because I'm ghosting your dreams_

‘Why did it have to come to this?’ Hajime could only chant those words over and over again as his eyes refused to move from the scene before him.

It was disgusting. Hajime wouldn’t have wished this to happen to even his worst enemies. Worst of it all, were his eyes. This time, the fondness really had evaporated. Any sign of emotion, conscience, thoughts, life. They’d been erased, just like that. In a matter of seconds. Contorted and twisted, his eyebrows were up in pure dismay and shock - and pain. Even if it was only a corpse, the duct tape adhered tightly across his once flushed lips seemed animated to Hajime. He could see, feel, and hear the screams that must have been muffled behind the bloodied tape. 

Hajime wondered if vomiting near the corpse of your most detested ‘friend’ could be considered acceptable, but he didn’t have time to decide before his body did.

It’s strange. Just a few days ago, when he stood with Hajime in that damned Monokuma room, he could not think of a time he had felt more enraged. A book citing; a lie; Hajime allowed himself to feel wrath towards those words without even once logically picking them apart. Realising is a hard truth, which is partly why Hajime couldn’t decide if it was the gore or his own regret making him reject his very insides.

He knew someone was at his side. They were holding his head up. Someone else was grabbing his sides. Weak. He felt weak, so he decided to let himself go. He hit the concrete floor. It was impossible to tell what the liquid that had seeped into his clothes and hair was - whether it was Nagito’s blood and guts or whether it was Hajime’s vomit. He didn’t know which he would prefer.  
“What did I do?” He muttered. “Did this happen because of me? Maybe, if I had been there. Maybe if we had listened. Maybe if we hadn’t treated him like an unsightly ghoul and left him to starve alone, none of this would have happened. We could have talked. There could have been an agreement. But now all there is… is a pool of regret and shame beneath me.” 

Hajime didn’t realise he wasn’t speaking by the end. At some point, his mind had gone blank and his vision had disappeared along with his conscience.

_And this is why I have decided_

The trial had finished; the execution was complete. All that was left of Chiaki - his Chiaki - was a river of blood hidden by tetris blocks. It was comical in a way, how easily Monokuma was able to dismiss the action of taking a life away from someone. It’s just a silly game, to him, and if Hajime wasn’t breaking apart from his insides he would have felt enraged.

Instead, he realised his paralysed body couldn’t do anything. Staring, and staring, he burned holes into the tetris blocks praying that somehow - just somehow - Chiaki would jump from underneath them and sprint towards him, crushing him in a hug like she used to.

 _‘Did I lose them both tonight?’_ Hajime wanted to ask, but he knew the answer he would get just as well as he knew he would not be able to cope with hearing it.

“Hajime-” Akane’s words faded when she saw his face.

Oftentimes, during action films, cartoons, mangas, novels, the face of a grieving person is portrayed as unnaturally contorted. But the reality was harsher. When faced with the death of the people you loved, all you feel is a hollowness inside you. The confidence Chiaki built in him and the ‘mysterious bond’ he had shared with Nagito; what had previously made up his entire being was now gone. He felt empty. He felt like a shell of himself. He did not feel real.

To pull these old white sheets from my head

The first night without them was rough, as an understatement. Hajime had sobbed out all the liquid left in his body, excluding the amount he had vomited all over Nagito’s body, and all he could do was try to ignore the throbbing pain on the right side of his head. Ideally, Hajime would have liked to mourn the two more correctly. Like they do in the movies. He wanted to sit down and look through photo albums, texts, letters. Anything.

So he tried.

All the evidence he had of Chiaki’s existence was a piece of fabric Monokuma so willingly let him keep from her backpack, the diary she had written for Monomi, and his memories of her. Of course, he ignored all the memories from previous class trials and investigations.

Nagito was tougher to mourn. He had no physical evidence of Nagito’s existence at all, and all the memories he held were hostile. Memories of when Hajime perceived Nagito as a burden; a psychopath; a person to avoid. Memories of when he ignored him as if he was some sort of invisible ghoul. Memories of when he ghosted his words and life.

Unbearable. The guilt - the regret - Hajime couldn’t contain it all in his heart. So, for the second time that day, a sickly green manifestation of his regrets pooled at the edge of his bed, spilling onto the floor. Hours passed of dry heaving and vomiting. Was this how mourning was supposed to go? Or was he, once again, failing Nagito?

_I'll leave them folded neat and tidy_

When he heard a knock at his door again, weeks after that day, he had half expected Chiaki to be standing behind it. He missed her smile.

Regardless, he closed that line of thought before he had a chance to remember.

“Hello, Fuyuhiko.” Not even his voice sounded the same.

“Hey, Hajime. Um. You know I suck at this comforting shit, right?” Hajime nodded, “Good. Don’t expect much. But, um, if it means anything Kazuichi remembered he kept a piece of evidence from - uh - _his_ investigation. It’s a bit… stained, and ripped, but I remembered how I felt about Peko. I think… it would have been nice if I had something to remember her by other than old photographs. Here you go. And - um - we’re here if you ever… need anything. Take care, Hajime.”

Fuyuhiko didn’t stay to hear Hajime’s response. Rather, he shoved a pile of fabric into Hajime’s arms and slammed the door of his cottage.

And - God damn it, Fuyuhiko - Hajime felt himself begin to cry all over again.

The green coat had become a signature of Nagito’s throughout the time they were alive. Having it in his arms was … it was too much, but in the best way. Hajime brought the red and mudded brown stained ripped up coat to his face and buried himself into it. The scent of Nagito’s blood was there. Hajime knew it was disgusting, but he relished it. After all - blood or not - it was still Nagito’s scent.  
After that day, sleeping became easier. Some days, he would hug the coat as he fell asleep. On other, better, days, he would fold it neatly and place it at the foot of his bed. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes enough, it felt like Nagito was there with him.

But that would be silly; ghosts don’t exist.

_So that you'll know I'm out of hiding_

After a while, Hajime found enough strength to present himself to the rest. Not enough strength that he looked kind or approachable - or even presentable - but it was a step forward.  
“Hajime?” Sonia was the first to speak, eyes lighting up as she noticed her presence. He smiled weakly back at her.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you needed, Nagito, but I promise I will be here for them. It’s my promise to you, and my way of apologising.

_I remember, I remember the days_

“We believe in our future. That’s what makes us different from you. We believe that if we try new things, even difficult things, that everything will turn out okay.” Are you listening, Nagito? “We believe we can even create our own futures.

“Thank you.” Makoto said.

“I’m not the one you should be thanking.” Thank you, Nagito. “This is just the beginning.”

_When I'd make you oh-so afraid_

“Did you… Did you ever hate me for what I said to you that day, Nagito?” Hajime tightened his grip around Nagito’s cold, firm metal hand and looked down in shame.

“Never. At first, I was hurt, and afraid. I thought I had lost the only person who understood me, all because I panicked and covered it up with a lie. I was scared… that you were the one who hated me. All this time, Hajime, I’ve lived in fear of being hated. But you taught me something. You taught me that thinking of myself like that - so lowly - it would never help me. Thank you, Hajime.”

“I’m not the one you should thank. Chiaki helped me find my own confidence, and I think she would have loved to see yours.”

“That’s true. She would hit me if she heard me talking like this… Well, in the future at least, try not to ghost me anymore, okay?”

“Of course.”

_And this is why I have decided, to leave your house and home un-haunted._


End file.
